Understanding: chapter one tiny thing
by Lady2
Summary: Frodo learns about life and its origin in the Conie Hutch. (Could his witness of birth be a metaphor for his "growing" feelings for Samwise? Will they be birthed?)


Understanding

~*~

Chapter 1:  "tiny thing" 

"Sam!"

Frodo knew he was ruining the only pair of dress corduroys he owned. He was running, nearly breathless and flatfooted, every labored step seeming an anvil to his wind-rushed ears. The knees of his breech-legs were ripped- jagged and open from sinking briars, and he felt the wet sting of blood there, and a swelling on his forearm where a branch had dealt him a nasty quick-cut. 

The sky was aglow with color and the wind was blowing, cool, down from the hills. The trees creaked softly, and the inhabitants of Bagshot Row, as well as the rest of Hobbiton, were out enjoying the brief repose from the blistering heat of late spring. 

When Hamfast Gamgee and his wife had finally settled on their porch, enjoying the last few long hours of rosy evening ('_And a pipe perhaps_,' Hamfast happily drowsed), there came a loud crack of thicket, and suddenly a strange, wild thing- a wild, blood-cheeked, storm-eyed creature with twigs for hair and pale wings for arms- came crashing through half the wood pile and had it's wild foot stuck in the water bucket, before either of the elder Gamgees realized that this was in fact their main employer…and not some crazed beast.

"Mr.- Mr. Baggins?"

"_Samwise_!" Was all Frodo could emit before the elder Gamgee rose in one swift motion from his perch, his shoulders- stooped only moments before in drowsy contentment- now round, erect, and powerful as they must have once always been, and bellowed for his son: "Samwise! Samwise boy, you're needed!"

Noises of hurry and bustle could be heard down and along the inside staircase. A loud thump and several mild curses ("_Codswollop_!") were followed directly by the deep shadow of Samwise Gamgee's large and heavy frame in the doorway. He was heaving and darting his eyes between his father and the wood- and darting again- and realizing it was in fact Mr. Frodo that was standing there looking like the creature from the Black Lagoon.

Samwise took a breath, straightening his posture, before he said, "Mr. Frodo…sir?"

"Sam," Frodo felt now more powerful the sting of his cut knees and his arm, and the burning of his chest as it sucked cold evening air, "The hutch…Sam, the bairns…Sam, she's coming!"

A light of understanding and resolution could be seen growing in Sam's round face with every hitched phrase Mr. Frodo gave, and he was clear now on what to do, though the state of his master must also need attending. 

"You stay here Mr. Frodo."

"No!" Frodo's blue eyes went all wide and wild again, and he clutched his chest. "No, I'm coming with you."

Sam only nodded dumbly for several moments, the shockwaves rolling between them in the air taking momentary hold. He finally banished his own excitement and managed to calmly direct his disheveled master towards the cart pony. "Get on." Forgetting all formalities in the distress of the situation, he hoisted Frodo up by his breech-waist and clambered up onto the mottled back of the pony, which was now twitching, sensing a run was at hand. "Annie, git!"

The pony reared, and swung away from the wood and toward the road, bearing the two hobbits towards the field and the Conie Hutch. 

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Frodo felt the grass slice like feathers past his burning knees, the cool wind and dew serving to clean his wounds, and he pressed his cheek to the hot back beneath his head. He could hear Sam murmuring "…not far yet, nor far now…" though whether it was directed at the pony, himself, or Sam's own inner courage he couldn't be sure.

It had been three full summers since he had begun helping Sam with the conies, and no amount of duty or care could keep him from that hutch on a clear day, not after tasting the life that grew there. It was the first time Frodo had been responsible for something living and breathing- something other than himself- for if they did not aid her, the conie would not be able to give birth (so goes the taming of something that was once wild, causing it to depend on other creatures for survival). It was the first time Frodo had _seen_ a birth, a real one: one creature giving another over to the full, bright world. Sticky and huffing, the conie-bairn would roll…grabbing clumps of hay with its white, runny body, and nosing blindly for the large furry warmth that was its mother. 

Frodo remembered turning to Sam, slightly ashamed, feeling hot tears on his face, and Sam looking at him with wide, warm eyes saying: "S'alright now, Mr. Frodo. He don't need anything but her now, he don't."

"But Sam, he's so tiny!"

"He won't be fer long!" Said Sam chuckling, "He won't! He'll be butting heads with the other one's afore a few months are over. No need to worry for him, he's got all he needs right here!" 

With that, Same patted the wooden post at the end of the round fence that closed off the birthing room with his rough, brown hand, and, stretching it back out, helped his master up from the uneven dirt floor: "Pull your leg out, sir. That's it…" And they were walking in the field towards the water pump to wash their sticky hands and sweaty armpits. Frodo could feel the heat at the small of his back sending his stomach into turns. 

"You look a mite pale, sir. Maybe we should rest here a bit." 

Frodo smiled wanly. "Thank you Sam, that would be fine. Just hungry, a little, I suppose."

Sam looked up, his eyes expressively widening. "S'no supposing sir! If hungry's what you are, then by Eru you'll be fed up right! Just let me let my mum know you're going to be about. She'll want to fix her cobbler, she will. And…"

"That's kind of you, Sam…and your mother. Tell her I appreciate it, but surely cannot accept. There are letters to attend to at Bag End, and I shouldn't like to be putting them off any more than they already have been."

"Oh, 'tis a shame, Mr. Frodo, sir! My mum- she makes a mean cobbler!"

Frodo smiled but, also, his stomach chose that exact moment to growl quite loudly. He relented, "Well…one more night away from the desk won't kill me."

"Kill you?" Sam seemed to think this raucously funny. He balled up his fist and smacked it into the trunk of his thigh, as he did whenever he felt he'd heard a joke worth telling. "Kill you? Do you good, it will! _Nasty_, dusty, study…"

"Sam! It is neither _nasty_, nor…well; it IS _dusty_, but certainly pleasant. I quite enjoy it…at least, when there are no letters to attend."

Sam blushed apologetically. He had not meant to insult Frodo's work- only worry for him- but he kept his course:

"Well they'll have to wait, you'll be too busy tonight filling your belly, and smoking your pipe, and looking at the stars…"

"I miss the stars."

"Taint no cause to miss 'em! They're right up there in the sky."

Frodo looked up as they moved on…

They trundled up the hill, which was littered with dark green holly bushes and a scattering of round apple trees- the ground soft, green, and wet, and the sky darkening- and paused every few moments to look up at the celestial bodies, wondering, and turned towards pale light from small windows that promised downy chairs, and hot fire, and food.

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mlgary@netdoor.com

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